Number
by skwirelygurli
Summary: Austin and Ally touch each other a lot. Auslly.
1. Chapter 1

**Number, an Austin and Ally one-shot**

**I do not own Austin and Ally. Reviews and requests please!**

The are seven billion people in the world. There's no way to ever meet them all. Some may live in a palace on the other side of the earth, others in a box on the side of the road. There'll be people that she passes by, the ones she'll serve, the ones she'll never meet.

And then there are the people who mean the world to her. It doesn't matter that there are over six million people she'll never love. What matters is that there are the handful of ones that stick close.

Some just like to stick closer than others.

Looking back, way, way back, there was a time when Austin was only a number. He was one of seven billion to her.

Now he's one in seven billion to her.

It hadn't started with a touch. In fact, it had started with a pair of corn dogs. But that's not where her memory dwells. It goes back to that one spot, where she knew that he wasn't going to be one in a crowd.

They had been sitting at the piano bench, writing their song. That's when it had happened.

Their fingers touched.

If she really cares to think about it, it's not the first time she's touched someone she barely knows. She's given lessons to plenty of kids on this piano, fingers curled over theirs as they learn the keys. Her fingers have brushed against the palms of customers as she doled out correct change.

It is the first time that she felt something. Something that wasn't 'ew, pass me the hand sanitizer' or 'wow, their hands sure are callused.' More along the lines of 'hey, maybe this could be something.'

She had no idea.

_(So we dance and we laugh and we touch)_

He slowed his incessant scribbling down. Her clown picture was now ruined, along with her defenseless blue crayon.

"You broke my crayon," she repeated in a much calmer voice.

"I'll get you a new blue crayon." He took his time, dragging her hand across the page. All the way left. All the way right.

It's as if he enjoyed holding her hand.

He hadn't loosened his grip.

She gave into the motion of his hand and followed along. If he didn't have to force her, there'd be no reason to push so hard, right?

Apparently not. His hand stopped altogether, and she thought that he was going to let go. Which it had, after a tight squeezing. She picked up the other half of her defunct crayon, tossing it in the garbage.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he caught her arm swinging back. He stuck a red crayon in her hand.

"Now you try coloring outside of the lines."

"What lines? You colored over them already." Only bits and pieces of the original picture peeked out from under the massive scribble.

He folded her fingers over the crayon. "Just let go and have some fun."

She drew a red line over the blue. Catching her hesitation, he grabbed her hand again.

She would have to learn the hard way.

_(Yeah we dance and we laugh and we touch)_

As much as she didn't want to admit it, there was one downfall to all those golden star stickers. Laundry.

"Thanks for helping me take all the stickers off." She pulled a star off her skirt, sticking it on the page in her book. The stars were not going to go to waste.

"No problem." He took another off her sleeve. The left one was clean. The question was, would he continue down her arm, or move to the other sleeve. He knew better than to get too close to certain areas, but there was no reason her elbow would be off limits.

It was stuck. There'd be no way to get it off without causing some pain. "Could you get the ones on my back? I can't reach."

He left her elbow. Pushing her hair aside, he tugged at the stars. One of them tore in half.

Surely she wouldn't miss one star. He tucked both pieces into his pocket, where they would stay until her found them later that night. That's when he'd remember working his fingers down her spine, and how she squirmed, evidently ticklish, as he removed the stickers.

He'd remember gently taking the stars out of her hair, trying not to pull the hair with it.

He'd remember yanking them off her skin, quick, like a bandage, per her request, and how the spot felt rough beneath his thumb afterward.

Not that his thumb ever lingered.

Well, not for too long anyway.

_(Gonna party all night 'til the sun comes up)_

She came down the stairs, shoes off. Now the bathroom was clean, and after a long night, she could get some rest.

"You're still here." Her shoes got set on the counter. Without them, she felt even shorter than usual.

"Yeah," he replied, hanging his head shyly. Trish and Dez had already left. There was no reason for him to stick around.

They stood in silence for a moment.

"I'm glad you decided to stay." He wound his arms around her. Without her shoes, he had to bend down farther than usual.

It didn't make it any less worth it.

Standing on the tips of her toes, she reciprocated. "Me too."

It should have been uncomfortable. It wasn't like their other hugs, where he could go down a little bit, her going up a little. It was a full stretch. It was long too, not separating until her dad came out of his office.

The next morning her legs would ache, but she didn't care. What she cared about was hugging her best friend, because he was here, and she was here, and they weren't planning on parting any time soon.

Medicine can cure body aches, but she would have never lost the heartache.

_('Cause it feels like the world disappears around us)_

Was the electricity turned up in there, or was it just her?

Because she had seen Austin without a shirt on before, and it had not created the sparks that were going off in the fun house. Big flashy sparks that she ignored, because as his best friend, those kinds of things aren't supposed to happen.

Buttoning his shirt, she fumbled with the holes. The lights were flickering. Just as she would find the hole, the light would dim, and she'd lose the button.

"I think you're ready," she had said as the maintenance man passed by.

He checked his reflection in the mirror. It looked good to him. "Awesome."

His hands held onto her sides as he moved her out of the maintenance man's way. She smiled her thanks at him and he smiled back.

He better have fixed that light soon, because she was feeling sparks again.

When Trish asked him to fix his shirt, Ally made sure to keep her hands off. There was no way that she could do that out in public. People would assume things. Things that couldn't be correct, because there was no way that she could be falling for her best friend. Even if her fingers had relished the feeling of his skin beneath them.

Out here she couldn't blame the sparks on the fun house.

_(When we dance, when we laugh, when we touch)_

They didn't always touch each other. Sometimes they touched other people. Those could be the worst moments, when they had to watch someone else make them happy. It wasn't that they didn't like to see each other smile.

It was just better when they knew they caused it.

For example, him with Kira. At first, she didn't mind. Kira was a nice girl that her best friend happened to think was pretty. She wasn't her competition, because there was nothing to fight over. Not that she could think of.

That moment on the blanket had changed things. It wasn't that it was the landmark between best friend and crush. Those lines had blurred long ago. It was more like something had sparked in her brain, that made her realize there was something to fight for.

Except she had never been good at hurting people. So instead she hurt herself, stowing those feelings away in a place only she could reach.

For not being good at hurting people, she did a fine job of getting her revenge. She didn't even have to try. One touch, one hug with Elliot, and already the wheels were turning.

Hurting him was never intentional. They would never do something like that on purpose. It was like when he had accidentally hurt her, dating Kira. These things aren't planned. When she touched someone, she didn't take the time to wonder how anybody would feel about it. It was 'I hugged Elliot and I felt happy'. Not 'Elliot received my hug and felt happy unlike Austin.'

If only she had known why he wasn't happy. She could have fixed it all. She could have kept her distance.

Touch is a dangerous thing. It can show how much you care, with a hug, or a hand tucking that stray hair behind an ear. But it can be destructive, showing how much you hate, or don't care. Whether it be a slap, or a punch, or the absence of touch completely.

Absence always is the worst. It's better to know that someone hates your guts and ignore them than wonder if they care if you are there are not.

Because then you have the chance to change it. Sure, you can make it better. You can also make it worse, and get lumped with the rejects. That's a place no one ever wants to go.

No one who has ever loved, that is.

Life could be easier without touch, but a whole lot duller.

It's not dull when his hand touches her hand on the piano. When he feels that jolt of whatever it is, that makes his heart beat out of his chest so far that he thinks it's going to fall to the ground. That jolt that he doesn't get around his girlfriend, who he is not leaning towards, hoping to kiss.

That's not her voice, bringing him back to the real world. The one where he is not her boyfriend, and he's the jealous best friend.

"We should try a different key."

Translation: We should not be thinking about kissing each other when you have a girlfriend and this could potentially ruin our partnership, so let's work on the song and pretend that nothing happened.

The door opens, and there stands Kira. She sees his hand, which has fallen to Ally's knee. "Austin, can we talk? It'll only take a minute."

He stands, setting his hand on her shoulder. He knows it shouldn't be there, and it's tempting him, but he lets it sit there long enough to make her look at him.

"I promise I'll be right back." He lifts his hand and follows her out the door.

It's tough, falling for someone you can't have. One touch, and the feeling loiters around, staying far past its welcome. Why couldn't she have fallen for someone who she could have, to hug and hold hands and kiss?

For now, she'll have to stick with what she has.

His hugs. His hand. No kiss. The kiss she could've had, only to throw away the chance.

It shouldn't matter. It's only a touch, one of seven billion.

Except it's not. It's his touch.

He's not just a number.


	2. Chapter 2

**Number, a second helping of an Austin and Ally one-shot **

**I do not own Austin and Ally or the lyrics in the page breaks. Math homework for Polkadotty. Review and request please!**

There are those points in life when he should be upset, but he's so jubilantly happy that he wants to spin around and jump for joy. Those moments when he hears the words 'we need to talk' and he'd kick his feet up in joy, but she's standing right there, and that'd be rude.

Plus he doesn't want to kick her in the face.

Her pretty face, which is oddly calm, considering the words that follow. "I heard what you said to Dez."

"You did?" There should be some feeling of panic rising in his chest. His hands should be shaking, his heart pounding as sweat drips from his body. He shouldn't be quirking his head in curiosity, like nothing is wrong.

"I think it's best if we break up." She twiddles her thumbs. Rather than coming across as bored, it seems to be a nervous habit. Her eyes are cast downward.

This should be the point where he jumps in, cupping her chin to force her eyes to look into his. This should be when he tells her that he was out of his mind, and that she is the only girl for him. He shouldn't be letting her head hang low.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes.

"It's okay."

"Friends?" This time he does tilt her chin up, because he wants to see her happy. Just because he doesn't love her like that doesn't mean he can't like her. His hand drops.

She nods. "I'd like that."

She rests her hand on his shoulder for a second. Taking a final breath, she removes it, walking down the stairs. He watches her go. There's no feeling of sadness or regret. In fact, he feels lighter, like his feet aren't touching the ground. The weight is finally off his shoulders.

He opens the practice room door to find Ally sitting at the piano. When she sees him, she stands.

"Everything alright?"

"We broke up." There's no regret in his voice.

Her arms wrap around him, in what must be a motion to comfort him. He doesn't need to be consoled.

That doesn't stop him from clinging on for dear life.

_(Cause every time we touch I feel the static)_

When is he ever going to need to know the value of x? Give him one instance, and maybe he'll put up less resistance to studying.

Besides, the more resistance he puts up, the longer Ally has to stay to make sure he gets his math homework done. It's a sneaky tactic. That doesn't make it any less effective.

"So if X equals negative B plus or minus the square root of B squared, minus four A C all over two A, then what does X equal?" This is the third time she's told him the formula. If he doesn't get it right this time, she's going to think that he's an idiot.

He's not an idiot.

He's just a distracted teenage boy whose hormones are raging like a pack of bulls because she's stretching across him to point at the problem in his book. She pulls back, her arm brushing his.

"Five?" he guesses.

Swiping the pencil from his hand, she writes down the formula. "Now plug in the numbers."

He takes his pencil back. Now to focus on the numbers in his book, and not the fact that their hands touched. A is two, not Ally.

The numbers get punched in the calculator. She watches over his shoulder to make sure he isn't making any mistakes. It makes it harder to concentrate, but he gets the right answer.

"X equals negative two plus or minus square root of fifty six over four?" Yes, those are exactly the words he wanted to share with her when she came over for a study date. Date, meaning Ally would finish her math homework in ten minutes and spend the remainder of her Friday night helping him do his. Not the ideal way to spend the weekend.

He'd spend it with her, but there definitely would not be any textbooks involved.

"Yes!" She high fives him. His hand stings from hitting so hard. Her palm is red, and she rubs it against her leg. "Can you reduce it?"

He huffs. He can do this. He doesn't want to, but he can.

"No, I can't." His pencil drops from his hands. It slips off the textbook, rolling across the floor.

"Yes, you can." She looks him in the eyes, and he almost gets lost in them.

Pushing his chair back, he touches her as he moves to get the pencil. He doesn't have to. It's not like she's in the way.

She's not in his way when he returns either, but he touches her again.

Better to be safe than sorry.

Better to feel the sparks than quietly die inside.

_(and every time we kiss I reach for the sky)_

He's seen her hair down dozens of times. There's no reason for his heart to be beating this fast.

It's just that her hair has been up all day long, and it's been an incredibly long day.

"Why are you staring at Ally?" Trish asks, setting down her paintbrush.

"It's because he-" Dez starts, before getting cut off by a very painful elbow to the gut.

Austin wipes his hands on a rag. The band room is finally painted. He cannot believe that Ally roped him into helping the music foundation again.

He cannot believe that after giving them ten thousand dollars, they can't hire professional painters.

He smiles innocently. "She has paint on her cheek."

"What?" She snaps the hair tie on to her wrist.

"You got paint on you cheek." He steps in front of her and brushes his thumb across her cheek. "Let me get it for you."

It smears. "Did you get it?"

"Um, not exactly." He rubs the back of his neck, leaving a paint spot.

Trish laughs at his misfortune. Putting the lid back on the paint can, she takes Ally's hand.

"Come on, I'll help you get cleaned up."

It's too bad Austin can't go in the girls' bathroom. Then he could be the one to wash her face off. He could look her in the eyes and kiss her and run his hands through that free flowing hair.

Except then they'd both be girls, and things wouldn't work out anyway, because she's interested in boys.

Is there a way that he can cut that 's' off, and make her interested in 'boy?' Boy being himself, of course.

As if he'd want her to love anyone else.

_(can't you hear my heart beat so)_

There's a moment that catches him so off guard, he almost chokes on his peanut butter sandwich. He does, however, squeeze it hard enough that the jelly squirts out on to his shirt.

He just had to wear a white tee shirt today.

She had come into lunch late. He was sitting with Dez and Trish at their usual table and they were acting like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Not like Ally was coming up behind him as he went on about how much he doesn't want to ruin their friendship by asking her out.

Fortunately, or not, depending on how you look at it, he had paused to take a bite of his sandwich.

Sure, he almost choked and stained his shirt. But she hadn't heard their conversation. She didn't hear him say that she meant the world to him, and that he really, really wanted to ask her out.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." She takes her hands off of his shoulders, where they had been as she half hugged him hello, and sits down with her lunchbox.

"Where've you been?" Trish asks, not letting him respond. She doesn't need to hear his fake proclamations of not being scared. She saw him jump.

"I was getting my test grade fixed, and then my locker jammed, and then I was asked if I had a hall pass and-" She notices everyone is staring at her. Taking a deep breath, she finishes. "I had to talk my way out of getting detention."

She breaks part of her sandwich off and gives it to Austin. After all, it was her fault he ruined his.

He takes a bite. "Thanks."

She sits back in her chair, and her foot accidentally hits his. He nearly chokes on his sandwich a second time. Despite what his brain is telling him, it is not an invitation to play footsie. She's wearing open toed shoes and he is not going to mash her toes under his foot. Nor is he going to accidentally hit someone else's foot.

Excuse me, I was trying to use my feet to flirt with the girl that I'll never find the nerve to ask out.

Right. That'll go over perfectly.

_(I can't let you go, want you in my life)_

He slumps against the practice room door. He can hear her knuckles rapping.

If it was him, he'd be running far far away, or pounding on the door, screaming for her to let him in. But it's not, so only the gentle knocking occurs.

"Austin, can I come in?" Her voice is soft, full of concern.

The part of him that wants to say no loses. He forces himself off the ground, slowly opening the door.

She waits patiently. There's no shoving back of the door, no trying to slip through the crack.

Somehow, that makes him more nervous. If she were raging mad, or crying he would know he did something wrong. He can't tell if that small smile on her face is out of pity or, dare he think it, glee.

He'd cross his fingers for the second one, but his hands are kind of occupied at the moment.

"Ally?"

"You kissed me."

"I know." He should wrench his hands out of hers and turn away. Only she's supposed to be his source of comfort, and he could use all the help he can get. He's freaking out here.

She takes a step towards him, her foot landing on top of his. She takes half a step back.

He knows he's supposed to learn from his mistakes, but would it be so bad to make the same mistake twice? All great researchers double check their work.

He chickens out.

Good thing he isn't the only one in this relationship.

He looks a bit dazed, so she calls his name. "Austin?"

"You kissed me."

"I know."

With the obvious out of the way, he knows what he wants to say. He wants to ask her to do it again. He wants to tell her how much she means to him and how badly he wants this to work. But even after two kisses, he's still not brave enough to say what he means.

Neither is she.

So for now, he holds her hand.

Because his touch can say more than he ever can.


End file.
